>"Why she was so insistent becomes evident a few minutes later. She
meets her mother, who gives the little girl a good beating for not
having collected money. In the middle of the street, the mother hits
the little child over and over again. Maybe four years old."

I think in Roman (or Greek) times a mother gave her child a beating for not collecting money... and so the story continues on. I suspect the little girl will probably grow up to beat her children. This is the dark side of human history.

>"The problem is that making drafts, outlines, and "taking points" has become a lost art. The ease with which spell checker "improve" your text hides the fact that more and more of the text you read is not well written."

It is Wednesday 24th of March 2010, it is the 13th day of our vacation
in Greece, and we have been two days in Nafplio on Peloponnese. The
general plan is to continue south towards the End of the World.

For some reason, in the morning, She complains of having pain in her
back. Just as on the Second Day of Riding in Greece (for those who have
been so outstanding nice as to stay with me for all these days). And just
as on that second day, there is a thing that makes me happy: She
complains of having pain in her back in the morning (and not in the evening).
I guess the first signs of being old is the "Sorry Dear, not tonight - I
have a headache"-things. Backache in the evening would turn things off
in a similar manner, I guess. We conclude she has been laying in some
awkward position. I leave it to your imagination to envision what I
think when I solemnly tell her we should be more careful.

But in the end the desire for breakfast overcomes even backache.
Instead of finding a bar, then returning to the hotel to dress up and
pack the bike, lwe do the bike first, and ride to find a bar. That
saves at least half an hour. We have coffee on the piazza just where
the new and old city meets. Her back is not good, but the "coffee" is
as close to a coffee as it seems we can get here, and it helps.

Across the street there is a (long) line of taxis. They are all new,
they are all made by Mercedes. One is a new Mercedes S63 AMG. I
notice that over at Auto.de you can pick up a used S63 for a mere
153.000 euro (about 200.000 USD). Say this to yourself: "A 153.000
euro taxi". Does it sound economically sound to you? I don't know
anything about the taxi-business in Nafplio, but it is either vibrant
beyond belief or screwed up beyond comprehension.

She feels better (coffee to the rescue!), and we ride off. Up the
street (dead end), turn, and back again. A lady is blocking the road
for us. It turns out that she is the owner of the bar where we just
had coffee. She is not pleased: We left the bar without paying our
bill.

What can I say?

After that unpleasant, but completely self-inflicted intermezzo, we're
off again. We ride south along the coast. But we haven't been on our
way for more than about half an hour before we are hit by rain. Light
rain, that is true, but still rain. We decided it is time for coffee
(again). This time, however, we only find "coffee". In total 16
drops fell. Or less.

We feel a little stupid as we take off again.

As we continue along the coast we talk about how few cars there are.
And no trucks are to be seen. We didn't see any signs of economic
activity in the north, and we don't see any signs here in the south.

[Note to the reader: This ride took place in March. At a time where
Greek politicians were still denying that there were anything wrong
with the Greek economy. Please forgive me for talking about things
that I hope, by now, are evident to all.]

We are in our typical vacation mode. We ride in the general direction
of our vaguely laid out plans. We are in no hurry, as we have no
appointments and no need to get to anywhere. If worst comes to worst,
Athens is an hour or so away; we can ride there and find a place to
stay. So we don't worry about a thing. Vacation as it should be:
Riding my motorcycle in Greece, with Capa Superiore della Famiglia.
We pass a sign. The text is similar in both colours. A dialect?

The road turns into a narrow valley. I am sorry to admit that I
forgot most of my intentions of always ride with great care. The road
is excellent, and we really enjoy some high-speed riding on winding
Greek roads. Probably not a wise things to do, but most pleasure is
to be found just there: Slightly outside the sensible and utterly
safe.

As we come around a curve we spot a famous place. I have seen
pictures of this monastery before. Cool project! Maybe you can see
the ocean from up there? Some time on Google tells me it is named
Penagias Elonis. Modern times: No info on Google means it does not
exist.

Here is a tip to my Greek friends: On the parking place just below the
monastery, from where the picture was taken, some information about
what we see would have been nice. Maybe there is a road to take me
there? Maybe a museum where I can pay a fee to come in. Or a bar
where I can sit down, let go of some money for a "coffee" and admire
the view?

OK, I don't want to be unreasonable - I know that "you" have more than
your fare share of the world's heritage to take care of. I "we" are
grateful that you do. But we still want more :-)

The road continues up, up, up. Then, finally, the rain starts in
earnest, and the temperature sinks down below 10C. The Captain, who
has left to the First Officer to find a enjoyable road, she is not
happy. Mr. Zumo isn't of much use as we (still) can not "tell" it
anything. But we can see the map. It seems to be further back to the
coast than over the mountain and down on the other side. We continue
upwards, but She makes it crystal clear who decided to ride here. As
if I have made any decision at all - I just enjoy the ride. Finally
we reach the top, and find the village Kosmas.

Kosmas sports a nice piazza with quite a few places to eat. All but
one are closed. The one that is open has six tables.

It looks like a private living room. Personal items are scattered all
over. Two men sits at one table. One of the is drunk. The waiter is
a short, old man. The skin of his face looks like leather.

No English here, but it is obvious that we are cold and hungry. And
then, at this remote place we get the best meal we got in all of
Greece! The broth had been simmering for hours with vegetables. The
meat did not come from some tasteless lamb, but from a sheep that had
spent it's life in the mountains. So humble. So nice. So tasteful.
It is cold outside, but the soup is warm. We are simple minds, and a
good meal is all we need. Crisis, what crisis? We sit for a long
time just enjoying sitting there.

We ask for coffee. He fetches warm water from the tank placed on
top of the oven. Needless to say, "warm" is considerable less warm
than the "hot" you need to make good coffee. Even Greek "coffee"
needs hot (not warm) water.

The result is as you can expect.

The waiter places a glass of water and a bowl of soup on a tray, and
prepares to go outside with it. The drunk man on the next table
comes to life. He starts to scold the old waiter. The drunk young man
is shouting, waving his arms, and very agitated. It is obvious that
the old man does something very wrong, or at least, something very
stupid. He looks sad, takes the tray, and departs. The drunk talks a
lot to his companion, and to us. We do as the companion: Look as if
we most likely agree.

We are ready to leave, but with no waiter, how can we pay. We wait.

The waiter return a full half hour later. He is crying. He is
sobbing, crying, and looking really, really miserable. The young man
who had fallen silent, he get a another beer, and start scolding the
old main again. It is surreal.

The waiter sits in a corner crying for a while, but then comes to our
table and tells a long story. We don't understand anything. Finally
he shows us a photo of a young couple with a child. And he holds up
two fingers, points at his legs and to his head, and sobs while he
tells his story. All while the young man is shouting what sounds like
insults from his table, and the other man watches the whole thing.

It takes some time for the whole situation to settle. After another
half hour we feel that we can ask for the bill.

I ask if Capa might take a photo of both of us, and he seems to like
that. He dries his tears, and holds me hard. I feel immensely strong
next to him. But, probably, that is not correct. He seems as he has
been hit by more hardship that I can imagine. And far more than I
hope to ever encounter. But he is here. He endures.

And that makes me very sad. Life can be hard, shit happens. And as
if life itself doesn't wreck havoc on enough things, I can not forget
the little girl that was beaten by her mother on the street
yesterday. Just this: Life can be miserable, and you add to that by
beating your own children. Or you find it necessary to walk up to a
stranger at the Lion and tell the stranger how much you are filled
with hate of Macedonia. I have a hard time coping with just knowing
about these awful things - how would I deal with it if I had to face
it? When I feel strong next to this man it is probably just because I
am large. Faced with real Life, size doesn't matter. At least that's
what they say.

I thank him, and holds his hand firmly while I tell him in Norwegian
that I hope he can solve some of his problems, that I feel really
sorry for him, that we have eaten very well, and that we will send him
positive energy in the future. He listens to me, sobs some more, and
says something I don't understand.

We go out in the rain. The drunk man emerges. He staggers over to
the bike, points at the wet seat, at Capa, and indicated that she
should not sit down on the wet seat. He "tells" us to wait while he
fetches a rag to dry the seat. The he staggers across the piazza and
into a house as fast as he can. We stand for a while. It is raining
for God's sake; we just get on the bike, fire up, and ride off.

The road from Kosmas down towards the sea is an excellent road for
riding. Even though it is raining. I guess the young man crashed his
car here. Maybe he had three small children, parents to take care of,
and a pregnant wife. Life can be hard enough without evil people
adding misery to it.

Down by the sea we find the town Gytheio. We stop for coffee at a
bar. The bar is part of a Hotel Saga. It is warm inside, it is raining
outside. Let's call it a day. I get flashbacks from our early days.
You know: A young couple stops for coffee, talks privately for a
while, and then asks for a room. Notice the octopus hanging
outside; there is obviously a seafood restaurant here.

When we check in the host informs us it is holiday tomorrow. I ride
off and find a gas station.

For antipasti bread with some greasy pasta (mayonnaise?). Not to our
liking (too greasy). But then s fish soup (to the right on the
picture) and rice with camberetti (large shrimps). Both very nice
indeed. In particular the rice! And when I ask for a grappa I get a
grappa. Can a man ask for more?

After dinner I surf over to ADVrider (surprise!) and in the "planning
thread" I agree with Mr. Catrionhead that he reserves a room for us in
Kalamata tomorrow. We're all set, and run off to our room.

We rode no more than 165 km today. An interactive map with all the
photos can be foundhere.

Your report is extraodrinary, your ability to pass your view of the things to us amazing... Although I have visited all of the places you have passed (till this update of your report) I find reading your texts very interesting. You are not just describing a ride, your are presenting yourself to us and I believe everybody in here likes what he sees...

I have some objections on few of the conclusions about things in Greece or Greeks themselves your way of thinking leads to, but I will state them after your report is over.

Still thinking of how unfortunate it was that I didn't get a chance to meet you, as I learned too late that you were coming this way...

I really like the way your own personality comes across, making your contributions somehow more than “just” ride reports.

Having ridden down to the Peloponnese in September, I have vivid and fond memories of the experience, perhaps especially of the Mani peninsula. And after your disappointments with thin watery wines, I hope you managed to try some of the Mani’s outstanding Monemvasia reds?

Like you, I also found Nafplion, and in particular San Gimigniano somewhat synthetic in their too-immaculate state of restoration and preservation. In San G. I had a close look at the sheer craftsmanship of the paving stones and gutters; a bit like the perfect hair-do that leaves you wondering if it’s really a wig...

If we refrain from looking at the lady sleeping next to me in the bed,
the best thing one can imagine looking at when waking up in the
morning, that is a veranda and blue, Greek ocean.

It is Thursday 25th of March on our 14th day of vacation in Greece.
We are in Gythio. The plan for today is to ride to the End of the
World, and then to Kalamata. In Kalamata we hope to meet
Mr. Castrionhead from ADVrider.

The table is waiting for me and a glass of water. Sitting there I can
watch the ocean, and the people I can hear going about their lives out
on the street. But then again, my woman is here. The bed is warm.

The nagging needs of the body requires me to get up, regardless of how
much I would like to remain under the sheets. Then a light breakfast
where we meet a Swiss couple. They've seen our Italian bike, but are
disappointed to hear that they can not improve their Italian by
speaking to us. We let him improve his English instead :-)

The host tells us is the Liberation Day today. But not the end of
WW-II but rather liberation from the Turkish occupation (but I am
sorry to admit I forgot to ask when that happened). We are also told
that summer time will come in effect Saturday. But, if you recall,
two weeks ago (Third
day of Riding in Greece" a member of the crew stood looking at
my morning-stiff private parts as I got out of bed. That happened
because of summer time. Our host explains that Greece starts summer
time two weeks after the rest of Europe. Oh - OK. So maybe the ferry
to Igomenitza was on time, after all.

When we arrived in Gythio yesterday it was raining. We didn't notice
they have problems with a Napoli-style strike here too. We haven't
seen anything like this anywhere so I assume it is a local problem.

But notice, please, the building behind the orange machine.

Just as southern Italy, Greece is full of half-finished and abandoned
buildings. It is ugly, ugly, ugly. Here, as in Italy. I am willing
to bet a above-average bottle of Chiantio Classico that capital that
are left to rot like this, that capital comes from the black sector of
society. Here, as in Italy. I can not envision how white money,
already taxed, would be wasted to such a degree.

But what do I know?

Gythio is at the north-eastern end of Mani. Mani is a peninsula
sticking out towards the south from Peloponnese. At the end of Mani,
where the World as we know it ends, there is a temple. I haven't
found anything on Google about it so it is a fair assumption that we
will not meet any (other) tourists there. So, let's go there.

The main road on Mani follows the west coast. That is why we are
riding on the east coast. The road is of varying quality, but well
paved. We like the ride along the sea. The terrain is barren, rocks
and some grass, and then the blue sea.

Notice abandoned building.

We managed to roll from the hotel at nine thirty. It has rained all
night but now there is some sun. The road is drying up fast. When we
arrive at Kotronas it is time for coffee (even though we don't expect
to get anything but "coffee").

There is only one "bar", and the old lady seems surprised that we
prefer to sit outside. There is no-one inside, but a large TV on full
blast. It is nice and warm and even if there is no sun right now,
the ocean is calling for us to watch it.

We have stopped talking about the "coffee". Instead I dream of
smoking a cigarette. These quite mornings are dangerous. If She
wasn't here I might not have been able to resist.

It is very, very quiet. Kotronas is at the bottom of a deep bay ---
dare I use the word fjord? --- the beach looks fantastic even though
it is too cold now. If you're in Greece on a warm summer day, punch
N36.61954 E22.49442 into your GPS and go there!

After "coffee" we continue south. On our way out of the village we
meet to donkeys (on their way home?). Donkeys? Let me tell you about
the [TaSK]-indicator of agriculture. Based on empirical
studies of the world as seen from my bike I conjecture that the profit
you can make from agriculture, and thus the possibility of making a
living from it without subsidizes, is inversely proportional to the
number of donkeys you see. This accuracy of this economic indicator
increases with gross national product.

Where did I last see a donkey? In Sicilia.

QED.

There are countless villages. All on hills, a good distance away from
the sea.

Look at the two images above. One shows a village on Mani, the other
a similar sized one in Norway. Two things are immediately evident:
Even though the weather on Mani is much, much, much better, if you
intended to live from fishing, Norway was a better place to live.

No-one would have carried stone after stone all the way up on a hill
unless it was really, really necessary. Or, if you like, life here
was probably dangerous. Pirates and what-not would probably arrive
and wreck havoc on your life. For no good reason other than greed.

Then it is obvious that even far, far north the rain and generally bad
weather "works". It is green. Lush green (as opposed to Mani, at
least). We ride south on Mani and I think about the hardship. Living
here, being tormented by pirates while you try to scrape food for you
family from those barren rocks.

There is no luxury here. Not a single house is painted or plastered.
I feel lucky and privileged as I am able to ride and watch this on a
motorcycle in the 21st century.

On a different note: This is how I envisioned Greece: Dry and barren.
Fortunately I have seen lots of mountains and forests to balance the
image.

If you again check out the image from Norway above, the water you see
is not a lake but rather the ocean. In Norway, the word "coast" means
a deep strip of land. That is, "the coast" starts far in land and
continuous far into the sea. In Italy, and Greece most places, the
coast is a beach. A line. On one side of the line there is land, on
the other the ocean. In Norway, most places, when you first meet the
salt water you are 100 km (or more!) away from the ocean. The fjords
makes the sea and the land meet. Land changes gradually into sea.

How nice it would have been to be here in summer, park the bike, walk
down to that little beach just there, undress, take Capa's hand, and
walk together into the blue-green water!

Two more economic indicators. These two stood idle outside a
half-finished and abandoned building.

But there is something else strange here. We have ridden all the way
from Gythio down on the east coast of Mani. Where are the bars?
Where are the sources of income? Where do tourists stop and depart
with their money? Is this a natural reserve?

Finally we arrive at the End of the World. Temple on the left, bike on the right.
As it should be.

If you travel to the other end of the world, you end up at
Nordkapp, Norway. There, in 1988, I had to pay 150 NOK (about 20
euro) to get in. In 1988. There is a large installation, a hotel (I
think), a restaurant, an underground tunnel leading all the way to the
cliff, and so on. Here, it is free. I don't know if I like it or
not. Yes, I like that it is free. But I should have been required to
pay something. Maybe no-one comes here?

There is no space for parking so maybe no buses with tourists arrive
here. How can you go to Greece and not visit the End of the World?
Well, when I think about it, most of all those who visit Greece
probably have other things on their mind than the End of the World.

This is an "old place". By this I mean that people have been coming
here for more than 2.000 years. The first thousand probably to talk
to the oracle. The last thousand years to see the place itself. In
contrast Nordkapp is a (very) modern place. People started to venture
there only about 1900. As "a place" it is about hundred years old.

Here is a suggestion for a book (named "From one end of the world to
another"): A couple starts their vacation at Nordkapp (a new place).
As they drive south towards Greece and Mani (an old place) they start
to talk about more and more things in their past. We understand that,
basically, they are (still) together because they are so used to it,
and any line of thought in any other direction leads to
unpleasantness. When they are at the New Place we get the impression
that their problems are new and life just needs some adjustments to
make it. As they slowly approach the Old Place we understand that the
root is, well, older and probably not "fixable". At the very end, she
leaves him and walks away. The ending, of course, is Ibsenique.

The book needs to be written as a Ride Report where the unraveling of
their life must be carefully woven into the report itself.

Any takers?

It is not true that there is nothing at the End of the World. There is
a small trattoria and bar. It looks closed, but a lady sits in the
yard working; making preparations for lunch, I guess. While the
First Officer takes pictures of old things, the Captain talked to the
lady and arranges for us to have a coffee and a piece of cake.

There are, however, things that indicate She needs to work on her
Greek. We get bread, "coffee" and freshly boiled cabbage.

I take it the old lady has a amazing story to tell her family over
lunch: There was this couple here in the morning. They insisted to
have cabbage and coffee; I offered her cake but she insisted on
cabbage! I will never understand those foreigners.

After this little snack we start on our ride north. We're on our way
to Kalamata. There we'll meet (yet) another ADVrider. There are many
things to be said about meeting in Reality your Internet friends. But
one thing is for sure: It is exiting!

The west coast looks like the east coast: Barren with small villages
as eagle crests on the peaks. We start to worry about lunch. Nothing
is worse than worrying about lunch.

Finally (finally!) we find a trattoria (taverna). It is ultra
simple. To the right you see the daughter serving the grand
children. The grand mother is cooking while the grand father is
setting the tables.

One table for the two grand children, one for us, and one for the
adults in the family. That is all.

As I sit at our window table I think about those who travel to, say,
Creta. If you Google "hotel crete" you get 2.370.000 results (I'm not
joking; try it!). Nothing wrong with Crete (I guess), but I prefer
this.

There is no menu, and if there was, we wouldn't be able to read it.
After the cabbage an hour ago I am a little skeptical to let the
Captain negotiate the terms here. But she does just fine.

First we get fried chicken, then fried fish. This is the best fried
chicken I have ever tasted. It is perfectly fried! Not greasy at
all, but still cooked all the way through. With a lemon and herbs
from the garden. Oh my, oh my. Then the fish: A large filét
perfectly fried, served with potatoes potatoes and lemon.

The tastes are full, natural, not too many, and distinct. The
food hasn't been "designed" on the plate. No fancy artwork. Just
food. Served without frills, fully confident that the food speaks for
itself. No need for silverware or well groomed waiter.

The best meal in Greece! By far!

After having eaten the children run around and play. Obviously,
talking to travelers is fun. The little one is getting ready for his
after-lunch nap it seems.

How nice it is to see children. In Italy you don't see children any
more. Because there are (almost) none. It is an understatement to
say that the current political leadership in Italy is not known for
it's analytical abilities. Italy has outstanding highways, but almost
no kindergartens. Good pensions, but no support for students.

Not long ago I spoke with a young woman. She is a doctor. She told
me that the statistics showing the number of children per woman, which
is already alarmingly low, is utterly misleading. The point is, she
said, that no-one under 30 years have children any longer. The
age-curve for first birth is severely scewed, and it is getting
worse. She said that less than 20% of all women under 30 have had
their first child.

"I", she said, "would love to have children". But then I must give up
my dream of getting a fixed position here at the hospital.

Tragic.

having eaten such a good meal we don't want to end it with "coffee".
We are approaching a big city so it might be possible to find coffee.
And, lo and behold, after a few kilometers we find a trendy bar. With
coffe (not "coffee") and a cake (not "cabbage" and not "cake").
Bliss.

We approach Kalamata, and after some SMS-ing we meet the Honorable
Mr. Castrionhead. He rides a mighty fine 1951 BMW. He even wears a
helmet! That alone makes me happy.

He even sports a beard, like me. We're probably the only two bearded
men in Greece at this time. At least, we haven't seen anyone else.
But then again, he wears a helmet so maybe he isn't Greek after all.

He'll take us to the hotel where he has booked a room for us, and then
we'll meet for dinner. On the way into town he occasionally points
out some house or a piazza. I try to remember them, but after a while
there are simply too many. When we pull up outside the hotel I tell
him that if he want's to guide us to the city, riding in front and
pointing at buildings isn't the way.

"Pointing?" he says. "I was blinking". My bike is so old that I
don't have indicators.

We obtain some advice on what to do tomorrow. Talking to locals can
be a pain: Some say "Everything is wonderful - you must see
everything." He doesn't say that. He says "Go to Olympia. Easy to
find, an UNESCO site, definitely worth it". So we decide to go. Even
though this isn't a "museum and ruin"-tour. His non-emotional advice
tips the scale. It shall turn out to be an excellent advice.

The hotel offers WI-FI. But the guy in the reception doesn't know the
access code. So no WI-FI.

During dinner, which start with filled peppers (paprika) we get a
sober presentation of the crisis. This time, Germany is not blamed.
Not USA. Not EU. Only the Greeks themselves. He draws a much
grimmer picture than I had previously understood.

During the last decade, the Greek have had an increase in their
standard of living that far surpassed the increase in Germany, for
example. He points out two important factors: First that that this
increase has been funded by loans, not production. Second, what is
important is not how much money you have, but if you have more or less
than yesterday. If you have more or less that people in Germany or
Italy, well, that is mostly an academic observation. Or, in other
words: Using less money in Greece will mean that the standard of
living must go down. Not only the growth must stop, the standard must
go down. And that is not a prospect of the future that will go well
with people.

Furthermore, anyone who is sober will understand how these things are
connected. We are 12 million people and we have raked up a whopping
300 billion (milliardi) euro in debt. That is 25.000 euro per
person. This means that first of all we must go down in our standard
of living to a level that can be sustained by the economy, and then,
to add humiliation to injury, we must each of pay back 25.000 euro
that has been borrowed in our name. These two things at once!

In this situation it is a real problem that the Greek speak English,
and also other languages. You create a crisis in Italy, Spain or
France and no one can leave. But here, youngsters can leave the mess
behind and start some other place. We have a long tradition of
emigration from Greece, but we really need all the brains and hands
here now.

He says he is very sorry that the word Macedonia is not kosher, and
that nothing good will come the obsession many Greeks have with that.

We eat mezdhes. In Italian it is called merenda and
means "a tiny bit of food, outside of the time of a meal". We would
not under any circumstances have been able to get hold of so much good
food without his help.

In the end, Castrionhead tells us that it is the birthday of his best
friend today, and that he really should be there. Knowing that we are
even more grateful for the time he has used on us.

Thank you for your time, for talking to us about Greece, and advice
and insight about many things. Your old BMW is indeed nice!

Readers Be Aware: The above opinions are mine, and mine alone. Mr
Castrionhead might have said something completely different, but this
is what I recalled that he said. You can not hold anything you have
read here against him!

We rode 196 km today. An interactive map with the photos can be found here.

Tomorrow, on our next to last day in Greece, we'll ride to Olympia.
There we'll meet another ADVrider.

just jumping in to wish a happy new year.
hoping 2011 is another adventure another trip more places and different people.
maybe 2011 will be the turning point and Bamsefar (correctly spelled?) will retire, maybe it will carry on for yet another year.
time will tell, the future is unwritten and I'm grateful for that.